Honest Pretension
by Ms. Terrible Frostbite
Summary: A collection of oneshots highlighting the various relationships within the League: Love, hate, and everything in between. Chapter Three: Making Boxes FLP HGGL
1. The Trouble With Men Is

Honest Pretension

Chapter One: The Trouble With Men Is . . .

Author: Ms. Terrible Frostbite

I don't own it, and I never will. Justice Leauge and all affiliated titles are property of Warner Bros. and their respective creators. I'm just playing.

So commences my collection of one-shots.

This takes place after that one episode where Diana and Shayera go down to hell (oh, sorry, ahem _Hades) _and battle ghosty-Faust -- also known as The Balance, which is kind of a lame name in my opinion. Anyways, I loved their interaction but felt like they needed more of a reconciliation. Not that either of them would ever apologize or anything -- I love how freakin' alike they are and how they so bitterly deny it (anyone else realize they're eating the same thing at the beginning of the episode? Ha HA!) Anyways, this story takes place between Shadow of the Hawk and Ancient History. Anywhere between. Doesn't really matter.

I'm a BM/WW fan . . in small doses. I enjoy a good fic here and there moonlighting them,other than that I stay away. It's just so hard for people to keep them in character! _Come on!_ Batman's _not_ a total hardass, he doesn't _never_ smile, (or am I the only one actually _watching_ the cartoon?) and Wonder Woman isn't a weepy damsel in distress . . _ever_. . anyways. I was disappointed a little in the final season's lack of a resolution to their relationship ( or lack thereof?). This is my feeble attempt to ease my own fevered mind.

God damn, I wish the show was still running.

And the Creeper . . . he's just fun.

------

Silence. It meant that the noodles were a little cold from having sat since the last major meal by the Tower's standards but to Shayera the tradeoff was a fair one -- no one to zip up and steal her fries, no one to try and force a lighthearted conversation with _Hawkgirl, _no one to pop in unexpectedly, just happening to have gifts and wine and blah blah blah. Not that she really minded Carter's fawning -- at times it was flattering -- but it was starting to get borderline irritating. Okay, beyond irritating. If he showed up one more time with flowers on a day that wasn't Valentines Day, Superman was going to be struggling to pull her mace out of his skull.

But not today. Solitude. Seclusion from any other living thing (except for the Creeper, who was eating _something _across the room, but he seemed to be having a very vivid conversation with _hopefully_ himself and didn't seem to notice her) and she was damn well going to enjoy it.

Would have enjoyed it, had a figure not decided to collapse into the seat across from hers.

The Thanagarian growled at the intrusion, furious thoughts hot in her skull as her head shot up, eyes blazing. Words, however, got strangled in her throat, tangled in a waltz with a piece of noodle.

"Shayera, are you all right?" She pounded her chest with a fist, coughing. A glass of water pushed itself across the table towards her, she grabbed it and drained half, nodding through teary eyes.

"Diana?" She choked. "What do _you_ want?"

The Amazon was slumped in the opposing plastic chair, looking throughly ungodly. Hair tousled in a way that Shayera hadn't seen fire, rain or wind able to achieve, all traces of her brazen armor had vanished, replaced by an oversized black t-shirt that read _GOTHAM KNIGHTS_ across the chest and a pair of grey sweatpants. Her long, thin fingers, appearing so delicate -- yet capable of sending almost anyone a dozen blocks and straight to the ER -- were wrapped around the handle of a spoon, directing the utensil to carve into a pint of Bob and Terry's Triple Dimple Cherry Chunk Ice Cream.

The princess looked up from the object of her attention, taken aback by Shayera's sharp snap.

"I . .I'm sorry." She muttered in a very non-Diana way, uncomfortably beginning to stand, "I didn't mean to intrude."

"Sit down, Diana." The corner of Shayera's mouth had turned up despite the defensively hard words. "What's wrong? I've never seen you like . ." She waved a hand at the lumpy get-up, at her perfect, Pantene Pro-V commercial worthy hair in shameful disarray, " . . _this."_

Diana retook her seat, swallowing a huge glob of the pink and red ice cream without meeting the other woman's eyes. Whittling out another lump with intense concentration, she offered it to Shayera. The Thanagarian shook her head. The Amazon ate it slowly.

Realization dawned on Shayera in a moment of crystalline clarity. "Could the perfect Amazon princess be having _man _troubles?"

"No!" Was the nearly shouted reply, Diana's eyes shooting up, wide and horrified. "No no no no _no!"_

Creeper peered at them from across the room and screamed, _"Gold bond medicated foot powder!"_

"Spill. Who is it?"

"It's no one."

"Oh, so you admit there is a _someone."_

"NO!" Shayera offered a wry, arching smile. Diana's shoulders slumped, she muttered something.

"Can't hear you, princess."

_"Bruce." _It was barely a whisper. Shayera sat back in her seat, mouth quirked.

"Should have seen that one coming."

"I didn't know who else to talk to." Diana explained awkwardly. Shayera cocked an eyebrow.

"So you came to me."

A silent nod.

"The _traitor."_ Diana flinched, suddenly intensely occupied with sculpting out another spoonful of ice cream. She slid it in her mouth and talked through it.

"All the other women here seem . . _intimidated _ . . by me."

"_No!_" Shayera gasped. "_You_, princess? I can't imagine. You, who never steps on anyone's toes, who never orders anyone around like they're complete idiots, who never walks around like she's got a stick up her--"

"Big talk for a woman who's motto is _'Shayera smash.'_"

Silence.

"This was a mistake." Diana snapped, started to stand. Shayera snatched her wrist before she could get more than half way up.

"Sit that prim little butt of yours in that seat _before I do it for you." _Ferocious green met equally indignant blue, their eyes locked in a silent challenge for a moment, two. Time stretched, neither willing to give the other an inch.

_"The mailman in the parking lot with a toaster strudel!"_

Diana sighed shortly in resignation, falling heatedly back into her chair for the second time.

More uneasy silence. Shayera chewed her now cold pasta. Diana stabbed at her melting ice cream.

"It's not like I can give you any advice anyways." The Thanagarian muttered at last. "You've seen my track record, not to mention my current entourage. Half the time I have to beat Carter off with a stick."

"At least he acknowledges you exist! The only way Bruce even looks at me is if _I'm _actuallybeating _him _with a stick! And then it's--" Diana furrowed her eyebrows and pouted her lips in an attempt to replicate the trademark bat-glare. Shayera laughed. Diana soon joined her.

It was short, and soon they returned to silence.

"Men are fools."

Shayera 'mm'ed in agreement.

_"Knock knock I ATE HIM!"_

"You know . . ."

"What?"

"No, forget it. Never mind."

"Shayera, what?"

Shayera exhaled noisily, knowing that she had to do it, not even close to liking it, not believing that she was actually thinking what she was thinking. "There's a . . movie, on Earth . . . I could get Zatanna--" Diana growled lowly at the name, "-- to cast a charm on me . ."

"What _kind_ of movie? Like . . . Fight Club, or . ." They had both been acclimated to American culture by one Wally West the only way he knew how -- movie marathons. Diana's eyes widened, voice filled with a mix of delight and dubious incredulity. "A _romantic comedy_?"

Shayera managed a baffled smile, like she couldn't believe what she had just signed herself up for. "You got it, sister."

"Really?"

"Really."

Diana smiled. "Great. I'll go change."

"Don't bother. I think I like you better this way."

------

Originally this was going to be a chapter in one of my future fics, but I liked it so much I thought maybe it should stand alone. Anyways, hope everyone was in character (I felt like I may have strayed a little at the end) but, whaddya gonna do? Anyways, please leave me a review. Constructive, criticism . . whatever. I love and appreciate them all.

Also, I'm looking for a beta for future stories. If you're interested, please send me an e-mail.

Thanks!


	2. Halfway

Honest Pretensions

Chapter Two: Halfway

A/N: Short one this time. Incase anyone was wondering, last chap was a friendship fic. I think Shayera/Diana is probably the only couple that could never work. Ever. Alternate realities or no.

Anyways, this is also a friendship fic. It doesn't really have a time line, it could take place at pretty much any time in the JL or JLU. And it isn't a continuance of anything, just one of those things that happened along the road that none of us saw (in my mind.)

Enjoy!

These things always seemed to happen to him.

Well, to them. And always in space. Came with the territory, he supposed.

They'd been trapped in a giant metal gas chamber by Intergalactic Police for a crime he'd been tricked into thinking he'd committed. They'd nearly gotten killed by some alive-but-not-alive purple fire, the controller of which was a three eyed, perverted megalomaniac.

Now, they were here, stuck in a dark, damp prison on some strange planet, the preceding events still a blur. His ring was gone, his arm broken in a terrible Z shape that was agony to touch, much less move.

"Hey, GL?"

A near indestructible energy wall separated the two, thin enough that they could hear one another but too opaque for visual contact. The speedster was in worse shape: both of his legs were twisted, bone completely shattered in a few places. John expected a complaint, an "I'm hungry, I'm thirsty, When do you think the others'll get here?" The Lantern wasn't in the mood. His head was aching and his throat was as dry as Death Valley, not to mention his arm, his goddamn arm. He'd stopped trying to bandage the bleeding and reset the bone. Forcing himself into a blackout had been enough.

"What, Wally?" His voice was tired, strained. He rested his head back against the cold wall and closed his eyes.

"What's red and yellow and looks good on a hippie?"

The Lantern opened his eyes, an impossible smile pulling up the corner of his mouth.

"What?"

He could hear the contained laughter in the speedster's voice.

"Fire."

John snorted, rolled his eyes.

They collapsed back into strained silence. John heard Wally shift, the movement quickly followed by an exhalation sharp and quavering with pain.

He dug into the deep recesses of his brain.

"Hey Wally?"

"Yeah?"

"Knock knock."

Aw, it's short but I like it. Next chapter: Burden, moonlighting the moodiest member of the JL, for Kyoko.


	3. Making Boxes

Okay, here I am, with the next installment! I know last chapter I promised a Batman shot, but it and I are currently . . . experiencing artistic differences. This one sprung from one of my other one-shots (as so many of these do) and my Batman and this one's antecedent will be a little further down the road, in that order.

With that out of the way, here it is!

* * *

**Honest Pretension**

**Chapter Three: Making Boxes**

* * *

"GL, _c'mooooon._" 

"For the last time, no. Never. In fact, we're going to pretend like this never happened. And if you ever speak of it again—"

Wally wasn't listening. "Dude, you _owe _me! And I don't want to look like a jackass on—"

"You're going to look like a jackass anyways!" Wally stopped, looking surprised and more than mildly hurt. John heaved a sigh, massaging his temples with his index finger and thumb. That was the most infuriating thing about the speedster: his uncanny ability to make John mad as hell, and the next second make him feel like the world's biggest dickhead for it.

"Do it with Shayera!" John jabbed wildly at the Thanagarian, who was lounging on Wally's worn blue couch, attempting not to smirk and failing miserably. There was a bag of Bugle chips on her chest. She was using them to make her fingers into claws, then eating them off.

_Crunch, _"I don't know how," _Crunch_

"See, she doesn't know how!" Wally dropped into a stage whisper. "And I see how she uses that mace, dude, and something tells me she'd want to lead."

John was starting to get desperate, and that desperation was tinged with the irritated realization that he was actually arguing about this, and not just walking out. "Aren't you and Linda taking a class?"

"Yeah, but, you know." Wally twirled a finger beside his ear. "I've got that attention . . ."

"Disorder?"

" . . . I prefer the term _differently-abled_."

Silence pervaded the room, aside from Shayera's continued munching. John let out an exasperated sigh.

"What makes you so sure I know, anyways?"

Wally looked at John like he had just insulted his intelligence. "You're kidding, right?"

"That's it." But by the time he was turned around Wally was in front of the door, waving his arms in big frantic arcs.

"Nonononononono!" Then, "And if you can look me in the eye and tell me you really don't know how to dance with a straight face, you can go. Seriously."

John started to open his mouth, started to tell the speedster exactly that, and stopped. The trouble was he did know how to dance, or waltz, more specifically. His grandmother had taught him when he was something like sixteen for an aunt's wedding, and he'd used it a few times since. Not regularly, but always often enough to keep it from slipping from memory.

John shut his mouth. A grin started blooming across Wally's face and he forced it down with obvious difficulty. Instead his eyes widened, damped.

"It's my _wedding_, GL."

A few seconds of the watery green-blue pleading stare and Shayera's somehow accusing _crunch crunch crunch_ andJohn was a broken man. He stalked back into the living room, put his arms begrudgingly up in the position.

Wally was positively beaming as he returned to the area. Shayera watched with an impish grin.

"Should I be getting a camera?"

John didn't dignify the question with a response. "First you put your left arm—"

"I have seen Beauty and the Beast, GL." And then they were like, spaciously hugging, and John had never been more uncomfortable in his life. Wally, on the other hand, was grinning like a loon.

"GL."

"What?"

"Your hand is supposed to be on my shoulder."

"What?"

"You're the _lady_."

"If you know so goddamn much about—" Puppy eyes, and Wally mouthed _wedding_. John's face screwed in a mixture of irritation and loathing saved for not even the worst of his enemies, and he put his hand on Wally's shoulder.

"Shay!" Wally commanded sharply as if saying 'Maestro,' and she picked up the stereo remote – simultaneously giggling so hard tears leaked from the corners of her eyes – and the room was suddenly filled with classical music.

"Okay, first you move your left foot—" And Wally wasn't as bad as he would have thought – the speedster was nothing if not a magnificent klutz – but after a little while they were floating pretty smoothly across the small room. And ignoring the Thanagarian's continued, uncontrolled laughter (which was pretty disconcerting occurrence in itself) dancing with Wally almost touched something close to tolerable.

And then Wally had to open his mouth.

"You look very pretty tonight, _Linda_."

"Wally—"

"I like what you've done with your hair."

"—I'm warning you—"

"And I don't care what your friends think. Broad shoulders are sexy."

John could feel a migraine coming on.

* * *

"What can I get you?" 

"Beer." At the bartender's raised eyebrow, John rolled his eyes. "Put it in a fancy glass or something."

"Right away, sir." A moment later, his foamy beverage was in a champagne glass and he drank slowly, knowing it was on Wally's tab, also knowing how much Wally actually made and how far this thing was setting him back.

There were more heroes at the ceremony and following reception than John would have thought. Intense scrutiny was the only was to identify them, and without the familiarity of primary colored suits, he was sure he had missed more than a few. Mr. Terrific, in a smart black tuxedo with a smile on his usually stoic face, was giving the cerulean-gowned Dr. Light a spin on the floor. Booster Gold and Blue Beetle were getting drunk across the room on free wedding champagne. Ralph and Sue Dibny talked and laughed with Jay and Joan Garrick. An amazingly tall woman (clearly Barda) was accompanied by who could have only been an uncostumed Mr. Miracle. Ollie and Dinah made an appearance, both with black hair and terrible disguises. Huntress and Question -- both blonde -- showed, the latter eyeing his piece of wedding cake with unmasked mistrust. Helena apparently got tired of waiting for him to establish its security and dove at it with her fork, which was met with heated objections. Star Girl was arms-around-the-neck prom swaying with Dove, while her stepfather watched with a half glower. The Titans and Bat-family both came in various camouflages (Dick Grayson had been the best man, after all). Tim and Bart disappeared early on to do some sort of mischief. John expected the overhead sprinklers to go off at any minute.

He could only take half guesses at the others. One was probably The Atom, and the woman he was speaking with may have been Crimson Fox. There was someone that resembled Vigilante, another that looked like it might have been a brunette Fire, but they could have just as easily been from Wally's 'bill paying' job or Linda's half of the guest list. It was impossible to tell with any amount of conviction.

All of the original seven showed, which was a nice surprise – J'onn in an unfamiliar human form with his wife, whom everyone was happy to finally meet. Clark Kent, an old friend of Wally's (since Smallville wasn't too far away from Keystone, it was a plausible story) with a lovely Ms. Lane, who they all pretended to meet for the first time. And then there was Matches Malone, sporting Wally's third cousin (twice removed) on his arm – a lovely floozy whom he called 'princess.'

_Who knew Diana would make a good blonde?_ John watched with some amusement as 'Matches' twirled the Amazon around the dance floor, a small smile on Bruce's face, brooding deferred.

At least for the moment.

Postponement was the thriving emotion of the evening – having all the original seven in the same room as civilians -- along with an unknown number of additional plain clothes superheroes -- was like dangling the string to a loosely wound sweater in front of a kitten. But no one seemed to acknowledge the danger, which was, as the moment, non-existent. There hadn't been any major crisis, no super villain had attacked, and no one had stood up and yelled an earth shattering "AHA!" It was stupid and corny to say, but there was something magical about the night, something serene and innocent and beautiful, and they were caught in the glamour. For the night, superheroing had taken the back burner, and they were celebrating. In their chosen lifestyle, celebrations were few and far between, and this, especially, was one to savor.

John put his empty glass on the counter and it was soundlessly refilled. In the middle of the crowd was Wally and Linda, Wally's bowtie skew after hours of tugging. Color high, eyes bright, smile so wide it split his face in two, he looked happy. He _was_ happy. John was happy for him, and . . . jealous of him?

They always talked about how immature he was, and yet here he was, the first of them to tie the knot. The first to make some sort of actual lasting commitment.

Oh, the irony.

John shook the thought away and smiled, remembering Wally and Linda stepping out onto the floor for the first dance, Linda looking flushing and amazingly beautiful in her sleeveless white dress with the crimson sash, Wally looking as nervous as a kid stepping up to make a speech he hadn't bothered to memorize. He took her stiffly in his arms, smiled anxiously.

It was unwarranted. After a few moments they eased together, and after maybe a minute Wally spun her around, dropped her in a showy dip and kissed her, to which the crowd broke out in applause and more than a few approving yells. Afterwards the speedster dropped John a wink, and all the Lantern could think was _Showoff, _closely followed by, _Way to go, hotshot._

"You make a box." John turned. At first he didn't recognize the speaker. Without wings, she could have been anyone.

"Huh?" Shayera stood before him, breathtaking in the short, clingy crimson bridesmaid dress, her now brunette hair in an artfully disheveled bun, face glowing with the touches of highlight on her eyes and cheekbones and lips. A charm -- one of Dr. Fate's -- hung low and discreet on her neck.

"With your feet." So enraptured by her appearance he almost missed her words. "You make a box."

"Uh, yeah." John set down his drink at the bar, walked towards her. The flaxen strands of hair framed her face just so. She was petite (if in physique only), but in the dress her legs seemed to go on for years. He saw with amusement that someone had given her a pedicure -- her toenails peeked through strapped red heels, clear but glistening.

He took one of her hands in his, put his hand on her waist in a way he hadn't done in what seemed like a millennia, a way that made his insides quiver. She allowed her small hand to be taken and held out, placed an unsure arm on his shoulder.

"Now all you do is--" It took her only a few minutes to get it. She watched his feet with apt intensity and mimicked his actions until their box became loose and elegant in its liberty. They moved from the confines of the bar to the dance floor, and her eyes rose to his.

"You're counting." She said slyly. "I thought you weren't supposed to."

"Some of us aren't that good at multi-tasking." And contrary to Wally's assumption, the Thanagarian allowed herself to be lead in fluid haloes through the other patrons. The music drowned way the sound of heels on wood, the soft overhead lights chased away some of the suffocating darkness between them, and he held her closely.

Everything drifted away from him then, all but the jade depths of her eyes, and he wished he could stay forever.

* * *

I know I didn't explain what happened to Vixen (and I feel bad, because I like her and think she and John could work out . . .) so that, dear reader, is up to you. Maybe she and GL broke up. Maybe she's on a mission, and this'll open up a whole new can of worms. Pick a card, any card; it's your lucky day. 

Oh, and I did put Mr. Terrific and J'onn in . . so if you're wondering who's watching the Tower . . . T is the third smartest human on the Earth, so it's one of those other two guys. :p

And for those of you not familiar with the Batman TV show (or comics): Matches Malone is one of Bruce Wayne's/Batman's aliases.

Love it? Hate it?

Review!


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